Routines
by Nox-Rufus
Summary: "You miss Voldemort" She stated more than asked. Yes, he did miss Voldemort, in some strange sick way; he missed the excitement, it made him feel alive. Hermione sighed by his side. "Okay okay, I get it. But Malfoy is not Voldemort, he's not even doing anything" No he isn't, Harry thought, but something is happening around him, and I want in. Drarry Draco/Harry Haters be gone
1. Chapter 1

**All credits for the Harry Potter characters and Wizarding World go to J.K Rowling**

 **Chapter One**

It was pitch black. It was always pitch black. Checked three times that his eyes were open, but everything was still dark. He walked further; feeling around him but the air was choking him. Everything felt hot and heavy atop his shoulders, pushing against his lungs and his entire body. He could feel his hands shaking, looking for a way out where there was none.

He heard a hissing sound by his ear and jumped. Wherever he ran, it was still there, the _hissing._ He tried hitting around, tried hexing, shining some kind of _light_ ; but nothing happened. He could touch nothing, just hear. He couldn't distinguish the words; just feel them brush against the nap of his neck.

Suddenly something grabbed his leg, digging claws into his calf, pulling him down. His face hit the ground, his wrists cracked beneath his weight. It dragged him on the stony ground, hitting him and _hissing_. Then it all stopped.

He got up and started running desperately through the dark, tripping madly. The hissing went on behind him, to the right, to the left, everywhere he went. The words were forming in his mind. He hit some form of gate and tried reaching for it.

"Follow, _follow"_ The voice continued and suddenly a loud growl was emitted. He tried to climb faster but as he went further, they got closer together. Claws grabbed at his jeans, jabbed his knees. The blood was pearling down his legs. And he started to scream.

He screamed so much that he woke himself up.

Harry was panting in his bed. He looked around him and there was a dim moonlight. No one else had been awoken by his screams of course; he was regular on the silencing spells. He passed a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. The dream was recurring really; it comes and goes. For the past months he'd had it regularly, once a week, on Friday. It was routine. He grabbed his glasses and put them on his nose. A quick look at his clock told him it was three o'clock in the morning. That too, was routine. He got out of bed, put some woolly slippers on, slipped into his evening wear and left.

It was routine even for the fat lady; who'd taken to leaving the portrait open on Fridays. And without the fear of Voldemort crashing through the doors, there really was no problem. Actually everything about Friday nights was mundane. Dobby had taken to leaving a small bag of snacks outside the fat lady's portrait - who every morning would complain that she hadn't had any - sometimes it was chocolate, sometimes it was cookies and sometimes it was entirely something else. Tonight it was a mix of mini cauldron cakes, small biscuits and dried fruits. There was dried fruit almost every time, and Harry didn't quite understand why. He didn't even like dried fruit, and Dobby knew that. In any case, he continued his road to his usual spot; during the warmer days he'd go outside on the front steps, and during colder periods he'd go to the astronomy tower – which is not clever, considering the freezing temperature up there - so this time, he went up there.

He sat down against the door, a few feet away from a bundle of clothes that were there every time. He always hesitated to take some of them, but he felt like it would break the unspoken truth: This is Routine. So he sat there, not actually doing anything. He just stared at the sky. Underneath his glasses, he sometimes saw the bundle of clothes move; he didn't think it was odd though. It made him feel like he wasn't alone. Those clothes were just part of this. So he stared for some time more and at four thirty o'clock, he fell asleep. No nightmares.

"""""""""

"Honestly Ronald!" Started Hermione's usual morning tantrum. Harry actually didn't know what it was about; probably something to do with homework or relationships. Hermione and Ron had been literally glued together since the end of the war. Harry himself had told Ginny that he didn't love her and she had replied likewise; so all was well.

Saturday was Quidditch practice with the lads. Not for the team of course. Eight years had written permission from the new Headmistress McGonagall to play on the pitch, but they were not authorized to play in the team. So it was Quidditch with the lads, who were disqualified from playing. Harry was bored even during that. There was not a single player that could match him.

When he walked back to the portrait to spend the rest of the day playing chess and exploding snaps, his footsteps were rhythmic. Exactly ten feet and two toes from the portrait was a large pothole that Peeves had created and then transformed so that no one could see it. And every time Harry passed it, the rhythm in his pace would make him miss it. Sometimes he'd walk just next to it, and sometimes over it but he'd never fall through it.

Life was like that.

Life had been like that since the end of the war. The second that Voldemort died, all the excitement had simply faded. Harry had occupied himself for a while by rebuilding Hogwarts and attending social gatherings. And that's what life was at that time: one long _long_ social gathering. There were parties everywhere, celebrating the end of terror and the return to normality; Harry was starting to wonder if he was really cut out for a normal life.

So when the letter from McGonagall arrived, inviting him to attend school for the last year to redo the NEWT exams, Harry snatched it up like a shot. There weren't many of the so called Eight Years though. To name a few, there was Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Susan Bones, Astoria Greengrass, Cho chang, Lee Jordan, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. They all had particular lessons, all together, and for the special options they joined the seven years. As far as accommodation was concerned, it was all a bit unorganized. A selected group, that accepted the terms and conditions, could sleep in the ordinary dormitories. And for those who remained, a hall on the sixth floor had been liberated and turned into separate rooms for two and a joined bathroom. Ron and Hermione shared, so did Susan and Cho, as well as Draco and Blaise. Harry had the privilege of keeping the room all to himself.

So, to amuse himself probably, Harry took to changing beds. The uneven numbers of the month, he'd sleep on the bed closer to the door; and on the even numbers he'd sleep on the bed closer to the window. Why he did that exactly, he didn't know. He also got up before all the others to go to the showers he shared with the boys; because he had heard some odd rumours about Draco Malfoy's, Blaise Zabini's and other's sexuality.

Harry had nothing against gays. Harry himself was sexually too inactive and too inexperienced to give any sort of judgement on sexuality. He didn't care one way or the other. He just wasn't overly keen on the idea of being groped in the showers.

Now Harry wasn't technically unattractive. Over the years he had grown into quite a lad. Not a tall lad mind you; he stayed small according to English standards; but he had lost his boyish features and his face became that of a man. A handsome man I must say. The Harry Potter Fan Club (Or HPFC to be cool), had grown bigger than the chess club. Naturally the club was filled with giggling girls who only knew his name and penis size (Vital Information you understand); but there were also a few more discreet, guys in fact. Harry did not know who those guys were; but the fact alone that they were guys, surprised him. Still; it meant nothing much to him.

His feet fell in tune to the rhythm of the day; just like bird's droppings dry throughout the day; quite naturally. He was heading to the Gryffindor common room to join the _youngsters_ in 'Saturday, game night'. Not that it was much to write home about; some, the usual ones, roguish and happy to be alive, would drink till the early hours; but most, so concerned about their studies and general welfare, didn't. Harry himself didn't drink much, enough to join the games, but not quite enough to change attitude. It was nice, cosy even; but week after week it was the same thing; same subjects, same people, same games.

Friday nightmare, Saturday games, Sunday working; same old same old. Monday was waking up and going to class, Potions to be exact. He sat at the back, just in front of Ron and Hermione. Their numbers being small, there was no need for Harry to be paired up with anyone; so he failed all his potions; without the aid of a competent student or of the Half Blood Prince's book, he did not know what to do. Slughorn never mentioned his ineptitude but his disappointment was clear in his eyes. Harry did try but he only managed to do something _reasonably_ good when Hermione whispered instructions or when he discreetly copied on Malfoy.

Malfoy, who seemed to be a fairly interesting case incidentally, sat right in front of him. Every time someone would pass in front of him, he'd get hit or insulted. Sometimes someone would throw a rogue ingredient into his cauldron; but he handled it like a professional, keeping a cool head and 'fixing' his potion without another word. He kept his O. Harry almost missed his retaliations, at least those had some _variations_ to them; but he knew that Malfoy was on probation, every one of his steps was guarded.

Harry had been there of course, at his trial, as he had been to Narcissa's. He had testified honestly to the best of his ability. Malfoy had been sentenced to Azkaban for the couple of months before the start of the new term, 'Eighth year', which he was forced to attend. The teachers kept his wand, which he could only use in class. The Malfoy name stripped of its prestige, he lost everything. Harry wondered how he remained so proud. Zabini had returned but all his other friends were doing time, as was his father. He quite simply had nothing left of who he used to represent, except his dignity apparently.

Dignity that he kept when Harry found him on the fifth floor, surrounded by three seventh year Ravenclaws. He was being pushed down, hit in the guts as he doubled over; they towered over him as if he was _vermin_ , words of ridicule edged into their tongues. Harry couldn't look away; even as he was being dominated, Malfoy's face stayed proud and conveyed nothing of the degrading position he was in. He let it all happen to him, but even as a victim he seemed to control it. A cough sounded in his throat and Harry's instinct kicked in. He ran towards them and grabbed the first he could get, pulling him to the floor.

"Stop it!" He shouted "What the hell are you doing?"

The other two stopped and turned a shocked eye to him.

"Harry!" One of them exclaimed "We-we..."

"No, you know what?" Harry interrupted "I don't _fucking_ care" He sighed "He's paid his price; what you're doing is wrong, now go away; and if I ever catch one of you again, you'll understand why Voldemort _died_ "

"But Har-"

"Out!"

They left, whispering amongst themselves in hush voices. When Harry turned round, Malfoy was already up; he had wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and stood once more as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn't in pain at all. He looked up towards Harry, his gaze was so empty it nearly shocked him; where had it all gone to? Harry approached him, wanting to check the injuries but Malfoy straightened up and faced him truly. Harry saw how uncomfortable the position seemed to him.

"Are you okay Malfoy?" He asked, crossing his arms defensively. Malfoy nodded curtly, brushing invisible dust off his shoulder. He walked away silently. Harry realised idly that since the beginning of school, three months earlier, not once had he heard Malfoy speak. Harry waited till he was gone to join his private room and grab the map. He found and followed Malfoy's steps; he had simply rounded the corner, and stayed there.

For a moment Harry wondered why he was back there again, observing Malfoy, following his moves. In truth, he already knew. It was sixth year over again, and _that's_ exactly the point. Back then nothing was routine, stuff _happened_. He'd take the time to question his sanity but he was far too satisfied at having found a new occupation. Part of him did think there was something fishy there, that Malfoy was up to something; but mostly he was just fascinated – not a good sign – by him.

He put the map down and opened his bedside draw. Inside there it was, forgotten in the back, Malfoy's Hawthorn wand; he had kept it all these months. Malfoy had a new wand while Harry yielded his. He followed his steps once more; Malfoy was moving slowly towards the hospital wing. Harry looked next door to him and noticed that Zabini was there; he wasn't sure what pushed him to go but he went.

He knocked on the door and waited till he heard:

"Hang on, I'm not decent!" He heard shuffling behind the door, and when it opened he found Zabini with a flimsy towel around his waist.

"Oh it's you Potter" He said "I thought it was... no never mind that"

It made him feel more uncomfortable than he cared to admit. Zabini crossed his arms, making the towel drop just a little over his hip.

"What can I do for you?" He asked. Harry looked at the hip bone for a second before looking up at his face.

"It's about Malfoy" He said without hesitation. Zabini frowned.

"What about him?"

"What's wrong with him?"

Zabini rolled his eyes and signalled for Harry to get in. As he turned round Harry could see that the towel was too small round his backside; he looked away to the best of his ability. Zabini grabbed some clothes from his cupboard and got dressed non-chalently.

"Since when are you interested Potter?" He wondered.

"I'm not, specifically. I just saw some guys treating him badly"

"Then you also know what's up with him" Zabini replied, pulling a shirt over his head. Harry took a second to assess the situation.

"They're beating him up?"

"Sometimes yeah" He threw his towel away, like it all meant nothing "Broken nose, ribs, wrist, you name it" He looked Harry deep in the eye "But if you tell him I said that I will kill you, probation or not"

"Well then why are you telling me?"

"You asked" He shrugged "Plus you're mister goody two shoes; even if you hate him, you'll just have to help him now"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"You'll figure it out"

Harry observed him a moment but shrugged it off as unimportant; he wasn't looking for psychoanalysis. Malfoy was being beaten up and probably spent more time in the hospital wing than he did saying 'My father will hear about this'. Zabini turned to him and rolled his eyes:

"Don't over think it Potter. Hate will always be here you know; nothing much you can do about that"

"I could tell them to stop"

"Oh seriously" He sighed "You might be the hero but you're not the Queen of hearts. Get out now, I'm busy"

Harry had more questions but he knew it was inappropriate; after all, had he not been the better part of Malfoy's demise? He left, still firmly believing that there had to be something he could do; but not tonight.

""""""""""

It was lunch time the next day when Harry thought of Malfoy again. He noticed that the Slytherin wasn't eating; or at least not a healthy portion. Zabini talked to him, Malfoy did reply and it reassured Harry to know that he could still talk. He just looked so dejected; proud but dejected. Hermione prodded him and whispered:

"Will you stop looking at Malfoy for a second Harry? There is more to Hogwarts than him"

"Yeah but the rest is boring"

Hermione frowned, looking at him like she was figuring him out, and she probably was. An emotion passed within her eyes and she leaned closer to him so that no one could hear:

"You miss Voldemort" She stated more than asked "Harry Potter, you have got to be kidding me"

He smiled at how well she knew him. Yes, he did miss Voldemort, in some strange sick way; he missed the excitement, at least it made him feel alive. Hermione sighed by his side.

"Okay okay, I get it" She said "But Malfoy is not Voldemort, he's not even doing anything"

 _No he isn't_ , Harry thought, _but something is happening around him, and I want in_. Hero complex, maybe - he _did_ hate knowing that someone was being hurt - but he knew instinctively that there were other people being bullied, and he had no urge to do anything for them. It was a _Malfoy_ thing; he wanted him to come back as _his_ bully; as strange as it may sound.

So when he bumped into Malfoy in the hall by their respective rooms that night, he couldn't _not_ say anything. They faced each other head on, Malfoy eyed him with boredom. Harry had seen many emotions on Malfoy's face; anger, irritation, shame, sadness, fear, even relief; but never _boredom_ when looking at him. He crossed his arms and asked:

"Why don't you push them away? Self defence is not a crime"

"You are a fool Potter" He said. The emptiness in his voice, the detached way he spoke was odd for Harry. He didn't recognize him "Self defence does not exist for a death eater. Whatever I do, it will be an attack. Play the hero, but even you cannot change that"

Harry couldn't argue against that; he knew they were right; Zabini, Malfoy, they spoke the truth. Malfoy turned towards his room and Harry moved forward, grabbing him by the arm. They looked into each other's eyes, a tingling heat mixed between their skins. They were so close that Harry felt Malfoy's air on his lips; his own breath moving a strand of blond hair.

"Attack me" He whispered. Malfoy inched closer and Harry felt his heart beating faster when he got a whiff of his scent, undecipherable. He came closer still, inches away from his ear, their shoulders bumping slightly, and murmured slowly:

"No" As he walked away Harry breathed out, as if he'd held it in. Malfoy was gone as soon as he looked up, leaving a lingering cold around him. His heart went down slowly but his breathing refused to be light. It was intense. He could find no other word for it. It was as intense as it had always been between them. It was _alive_ , right there between their bodies. He walked back to his room in slow motion; but part of him wanted to run back. Something rambled inside his stomach, aching for whatever that was.

He found himself lying in bed, feeling his skin shiver with cold but his body shake with heat. He dreamt no images, just feelings, and it was the most he'd gotten in a while. His own version of a drug was feeling, and he was hooked to that.

"""""""""

It was Friday; worst day of the week as far as Harry was concerned. For many it was a good day, it meant the start of the weekend; a time to rest, to take a break; to Harry it meant nightmares and a routine he was so used to that even if he wanted to, he couldn't let it go. At breakfast his eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table; this time he tried to be a little more discreet. Malfoy pushed his food away tiredly and looked up to him. Harry looked away first and gazed at the people around him; funny how little he felt for all of them.

Hermione talked next to him but her words were without meaning. She said something and leaned over to kiss Ron on the cheek; Lee Jordan exclaimed something obscene and Ginny glanced at some random guy. Just the usual. Harry sighed and turned back to Malfoy, he was the usual as well, not doing anything. He was just there, and it was enough to remind Harry that not everything had been destroyed during this war.

He bumped into him again, as he was heading to his extra Potion's class and Malfoy presumably to join the Slytherin common room for a moment. Malfoy walked next to him, close enough so that Harry could feel the heat from his body. Before they separated ways, an elbow hit him squarely in the ribs and he jumped. He was ready to respond but the blond was already turning round the corner. Harry saw just the ghost of a smile on his lips. _Attack_ _me_ , he had said, after all. He went into class feeling just that much lighter. Hermione noticed and went to sit next to him between adding ingredients:

"You look better" She said "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah I guess"

She regarded him curiously but let it slip. They continued brewing their batch of potions; Harry knew that Hermione had seen something in his eyes and he knew deep down that it was there. He didn't sleep well, he never did; but funny, how a push could change a little in him.

 **Boy I have missed writing! I had this in my head, thought I might as well write it down. I have no idea where I'm going but I quite like where it is now. Any ideas or suggestions are welcome! I won't be quick on updating (really not); I don't have a lot of time to write and inspiration is not always on my side. Hopefully it will come back to me! Like and review xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**Randomstickyhat: Thank you for your review! I was hoping people would catch that. War is destructive, but I think it often leaves one with… mere memories so to speak, and I wanted that to be expressed.**

 **Fandomflyer15: Thank you very much! I aim to please and to improve so I appreciate that ;)**

 **All credits for Harry Potter and the Wizarding world go to JK Rowling**

 **Chapter two**

The moon hid behind thick clouds on a cold night; frost keeping the wind locked in place and freezing the last remnants of life in the outside world. Harry hardly felt any of it; the cold had been worked into his bones and he welcomed it like an old friend. The cold was the only allie he'd always had; home at the Dursleys or on Friday evenings at Hogwarts. Right back into his youth, he'd always had one friend and one foe: the cold and Voldemort. Funny, how well the two went together.

Then, it was just cold. No enemy anymore, no rush to make his blood circulate so that he could feel his friend by his side. He was frozen in time and space, the earth swirling round him so fast that it appeared monochrome to his gaze. Within that pool of ice, a single speck of green glistened. Perhaps the everlasting memory of a curse that had hit him twice; maybe the true color of evil; maybe the tunnel of his future.

Green made him think of his past, for _you have your mother's eyes_. A constant reminder of who he is, of who he lost and why. Green made him reflect upon the present; if colors even matter; and if they do, why is green his now? But never had green been his vision of the future.

Green reminded him of positions, of Slytherin and of Malfoy. With a snort he thought about sending Malfoy an owl with a request: _If you were considering becoming the next Dark Lord, please do it now_. He laughed alone. He didn't need a Dark Lord, he just needed something to make his heart beat before it would freeze.

He fell asleep at four thirty, leaning against the railing, the breeze hitting him squarely on the chest. He dreamt of nothing but trembled within the wind. It was an animal that Hagrid kept that woke him up before sunrise; people would wonder why he didn't stay to see it, the beautiful show; but he cared very little for shows and the sunrise reminded him of fire, of fiendfyre.

So he walked back to his common room, leaving the tower to stand lonely, with as soul companion those old clothes that let a sigh escape upon Harry's departure.

"""""""

He stepped over the pothole without thinking on his way to the common room, carrying a bottle of scotch Seamus had _accidently_ left behind - in fact he rather suspected the boy wanted him to practice with something more substantial than beer. Already very soon he heard:

"One shot!"

Harry twirled his glass of whiskey - thank you _so much_ Irish lad - in his hand and gulped it down. The liquid burned his throat and he exclaimed, causing his friends to laugh. There was a knock on the door, making people look around the circle, looking for missing players. Ginny jumped up and squealed:

"There's Astoria!"

A whisper went round. _Astoria, Greengrass?_ Hissing _Slytherin_. Astoria was a shy girl, standing in the open door like a stranger. As everyone stared, she shyed away. Lavender got up solemnly.

"What is she doing here?" She asked. The Gryffindors waited; Ginny squared her shoulders and replied:

" _I_ invited her" The seventh years shared glances, questioning silently their classmate's sanity. Harry looked at the Slytherin girl as she was shrinking back out of the door. She looked a lot like Daphne, who had never dared to return, despite not having had a role in the war.

"This is the Gryffindor common room" Lavender added, earning enthusiastic nods from many others. The Slytherin tie contrasted against the golden red decor. Harry himself stared, he liked it. That speck of green. He untied his own and got up.

"It is isn't it" He whispered. Lavender crossed her arms proudly, waiting for him to send the _intruder_ out. Harry grabbed her tie and took it off with a murmur of:

"Relax. We're not enemies" He put his red tie around her neck and turned to his comrades.

"There you are, she's a Gryffindor now"

Hermione smiled proudly at him, the only honest support he got. Ginny laughed and made Astoria sit by her side. The Gryffindors stared in disbelief but dared not contradict Harry's ruling.

More and more Harry was drifting towards Slytherins; the back of his mind supplied that it was the last place where he could still be a hero, he silenced it with a drink. Astoria wasn't a true part of the games that evening, but it seemed to Harry that it was good progress that she was ignored and not taunted.

""""""""

Madame Pince was absent, Harry quickly deduced as he laid his books out at the library. She would never have allowed such commotion. There were two students that Harry didn't care to know at the grand entrance, blocking the opening for any newcomers. Over their heads towered a bush of slick blond hair and an elegant voice declared:

"I do not need your authorisation, _McLaggen_. You can hardly claim these premises. As I seem to recall you failed your year because you spent too little time here"

"I failed my year, _Malfoy_ " Cormac responded "Because vermin like you let fucking Death Eaters into Hogwarts!"

Malfoy did not react in the least. He knew, of course, that it was true, that he was a major culprit in the whole affair, but he managed to take it into his stride.

"I do believe your memory is failing McLaggen. You failed your sixth year did you not? And I seem to remember leading my dear aunt here when you were in your seventh year. Blame me for many things but I cannot be responsible for the disaster that you are, my shoulders cannot carry that weight"

Harry stifled a chuckle behind his hand, admiration growing steadily for Malfoy. Cormac didn't seem to find it as amusing and started pushing Malfoy away with incoherent words. The latter remained stoïc as he always had, he did not push back, he waited, listened calmly. A loud voice bellowed ' _out!'_ and everyone went silent; Madam Pince had resumed her post. McLaggen soon retreated and Malfoy came in with a smirk. He didn't know what pushed him to do it but Harry called him over.

"Malfoy!" He called "There's room on this table"

Malfoy walked to him, intrigued and crossed his arms over his chest.

"And I should sit here, Potter, because…?" He wondered. Harry started clearing his stuff as he replied carelessly:

"Because the library is full and no one will let you sit at their table"

Malfoy glanced around and had to face the fact that Potter was right. He looked at the table disdainfully and put his bag down with grace. Harry observed him with keen interest, and noticed to his dismay that the Slytherin moved with tact, making sure to protect certain body parts from friction.

"That was self defence" Harry remarked. Malfoy sat down, crossed his legs and examined his perfect nails. Clearly he was in no mood to talk. Harry didn't want to talk either, truth be told, it was quite simply too boring for him and he did quite enough of it already; but for some reason, with Malfoy it was different, because they do not _talk_ , they've never talked.

In the end Harry left because Malfoy was distracting him from his work. He could not attempt to study in peace with the man sitting right in front of him. When he left, he tripped and his bag fell loudly, making all his gear tumble to the floor. He went to his knees to scramble and find his stuff, listening idly to the laughs. He saw Malfoy retract his outstretched foot as if nothing had happened. Harry grabbed his quill with a smile he tried to conceal. Malfoy remained cool but the tingling in his knee sent the blood racing through his body.

As he reached his private room, Harry came to the conclusion that he might just like falling, or getting hurt. Ever since his first year at Hogwarts - the beginning of his _real_ life, shall we say - he had fallen and gotten hurt regularly. During his first year he had been attacked by a three headed dog, mad plants, flying keys, magic chess pieces and a two faced git - literally. From then on it had gotten worse and worse, then suddenly nothing. The void. Not that he was some kind of masochist, he simply enjoyed the rush of knowing that if he is getting hurt, something must be going on.

Later that evening with a churning in his stomach, Harry got up. He felt for his glasses and his hand caressed the wood; beneath his palm was like a simmering fire rising inside of him, touching his fingertips and connecting to his magic. He pulled back a second before letting his hand rest once more upon the nightstand. The heat was diminishing but still present against his skin. He opened the drawer quickly, looking for the object before its warmth would fade. He grasped it.

It was Malfoy's wand, growing colder and colder in Harry's hand. It felt like a call in the darkness, like it was emitting this invisible glow. Harry tried a simple _lumos_ to see the effect. It worked perfectly. The glow had completely disappeared, like it had never been there at all. He felt his wrist connect to the wand, as if it was his own, as it should; for better or for worse, it all seemed normal. He wondered for a moment if Malfoy missed it, if he could feel it. He got out the map and saw that the Slytherin was not in his bed. He quickly checked around, but as his weary eyes followed the footsteps of wayfaring students, they dropped slowly against his irises, causing him to drift into a semi conscious state, crooked glasses and still holding onto the wand, which was warming once more against him.

"""""""""

"Hermione" Harry called absently during lunch. She was swishing through a large textbook that looked like it belonged to History of Magic and paid very little attention to her surroundings. Harry elbowed Ron.

"Would you please wake her up, she's your girlfriend" Ron swallowed his chicken noisily and replied:

"Exactly mate, I've got to deal with her afterwards. I know better than to interrupt her"

There was a small pause, where Harry stared at Hermione, hoping that she would look up, Ron on his part carried on eating. She didn't react and continued flicking pages. There was a loud:

"Oi!" and she jumped up. Seamus laughed by her side as she hit him. She closed the book with a huff and turned to Harry.

"Yes Harry?"

"What could make a wand go warm?"

Her face morphed into a look both boys knew well, thinking cap. Ron rolled his eyes and hit Harry's ankle in a silent thanks. A list went before her eyes, picking up important bits. Finally she replied:

"It's an interesting notion and there are many possible options. Heat is translated by energy; in the case of a wand, energy is usually conveyed by magical flow. Depending on the circumstances, the heat can be post mortem residual magic, bonding flow, malfunctioning spell, up level incantation, master energy, transmission magic. In what context did it occur?"

Harry continued staring at her with a small frown, lost in the tidal wave of notions. In the end he waved it off, and though Hermione wanted to say something, she wisely held her tongue. She observed as his gaze wandered to the Slytherin table, noticed the way his fingers started tapping, the nervousness displayed in them, and she knew; she just knew, as she always did.

They bumped into each other by their doors before sleep. Harry was prepared to speak but was cut short when he noticed a marked difference in Malfoy's face. He had seen the man at lunch and he doubted that the winter sun was capable of tanning someone's skin so in one afternoon. Malfoy's skin looked _wrong_ and _thick_ ; two adjectives Harry would never have given it another time. It seemed that by his temples a small layer of powder had been stamped.

"Malfoy…" Harry started uncertainly "Are you wearing make-up?"

And there in the midst of a lost corridor, an emotion returned to Malfoy's features; his cheeks obtained a slight stain of furious red, conveying his embarrassment and his attempt to remain dignified. He was probably appalled at himself for using something as muggle as _make-up_ , embarrassed that he had been sussed out.

"I do not owe you any answer Potter" He declared haughtily, swiping some hair from his forehead. As he did, his finger brushed momentarily over his brow and he twitched. If Harry looked closely he did notice that there was a different shade round his eye, his lid hanging just that bit lower than the other. It seemed to fit. Stripped of his magic, Malfoy could not perform a glamour but still expressed the desire to hide his wounds. Harry sighed:

"I can glamour that, if you like"

"Well I don't like" And with that, Malfoy turned and got into his room. Rationally Harry knew that Zabini could easily glamour it for him, but irrationally, he had wanted to do it.

"""""""""

Harry never remembered his dreams to be honest, safe for friday; and he was seriously beginning to contemplate whether or not that might not just be him, telling himself that he dreamt that, rather than actually dreaming it once more. But indeed, on any other given day, Harry didn't remember his dreams, which for the better part was just as well. He slept near the window bed, forgetting to draw the curtains. The moonlight shone upon his unconscious form, basking him in a gentle glow.

And all he could remember from his dream that evening, was the warm feeling of having a body by your side; the shivering static excitement of having a face so close to yours that the stumbles on the chins barely graze each other. He could remember the air hot as fire hitting his lips, his body arching forward to feel that rush. An echoed whisper into the night:

" _No_ "

 **There we are! Chapter two. I said I'd be slow and I do apologize… I am so busy lately. This chapter is also shorter and that is because the first one puts everything into context and needs some chit chat, hence. Hope you like it, please like and review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Fandomflier15: You just review whenever you like, I'm already very happy to receive some! Yeah I'm attempting the slow burn haha hope you like it!**

 **Harry Potter and the Wizarding world belong to JK Rowling**

 **Chapter 3**

"Thickness is contagious I think. It's gone from my hair straight to my head" Harry whispered atop the Astronomy tower late - or early some might say - that Friday, leaning over the banister, into the night wind. He heard a scoff behind him but ignored it in favour of breathing in the pure air of altitude. It went straight through him and he wrapped his cloak firmly around his pyjamas.

"Anyone would be mad to be out in this weather" He rolled his eyes "Come to think of it, anyone would be mad to talk alone"

He used to have a voice in his head. Granted that voice had never replied to his petty remarks, and they had never had philosophical conversations but Harry had never felt alone. With a frown he realised that he didn't feel so alone; at the same time he came to the conclusion that he was thinking too much. The moment he tried to close his thoughts off he could hear the hissing sound by his ear. A shiver ran up his spine and he held onto the railing. The sheer excitement of it was enough to make him want to buy a snake.

 _Follow, follow_ , but follow what? Was it truly someone or something chasing him, or was it his inner Potter telling him to follow a given path? He sincerely hoped it was the former. Harry does a very good running away, stumbling onto roads that seem convenient - or interesting - but he does not fare well on _follow that path_ ; partly because his mind has forgotten that he wears glasses and partly because he can't make up his mind, he never had to before. He sighed and breathed into the night:

"Come on Hogwarts" _You've never let me down so far_. He sighed and turned away. One great Wizard had fallen off that tower, and even for the sake of a rush, he would not steal that pedestal.

He tripped noisily into the staircase, bumping his wrist against the stone wall. He turned round, wand at the ready, shining blindingly into space. It was just the clothes. They had expanded their ground and Harry was not used to the sudden change. He spent a moment observing it, it was the first time he truly acknowledged its presence. Presence that mattered very little; he was cold, yes, but would not wear them for the sake of _change_. Change comes along drastically, and not so easily.

"""""""""

The true meaning of a rush is stepping on a broom for the first time; leaping into the air, uncertainly. That almost unnatural moment that feet no longer touch the ground. The higher you go, the harder the fall, the stronger the rush; looking down and seeing the place where you should be, so far away. The altitude becomes a norm, a constant state of affairs; you stop looking down, because you know what there is to see. It all becomes a matter of _not seeing_ , of feeling; speed makes one blind. The wind is the rush, stealing all notion of _things_.

But even speed becomes too easy; and when you've flown at the speed of light over the clouds, when you've done the loopholes and _forest tours_ ; what is there left? Wizards are clever; over the generations the _game_ has evolved; edged into their very nature, there it was: the Chase, the Battle.

Harry floated aimlessly, the snitch fluttering in his hand as he received an applause from one of _the lads_. He did the Chase alright, but he missed the Battle, bumping shoulders with his opponent. That was a rush. No seeker would play him, they wouldn't dare. _The_ Harry Potter. He was too good to even try. Not that it mattered, Harry knew they weren't a challenge; Malfoy was, but he had heard - on the grapevine - that for some reason or another, Malfoy _couldn't_ fly. He'd have to look into that. Because _the lads_ play for fun and Harry has his fun on game's night, _this_ is to feel alive.

Game's night that quickly turned into a _kiss him kiss her kiss it_ parade. Funnily enough, once the guys had gone past Astoria's Slytherin-ness - partially due to Harry's tie, that she had kept -, they noticed that she was a creature of the opposite sex, and a good looking one at that. They were still reluctant to show their admiration for her, but whenever the bottle spun into their corner, a sly smile formed on the corner of their drunk lips. A chorus of:

"Oooooh" erupted amidst the circle and Harry deigned to look at the firewhiskey's top pointing in his direction. He moved up on his knees with a clasp of his hand:

"Okay then, who's the lucky one?" He was already half way in movement when the heads turned to Jack Sloper, blond seventh year. Harry rolled his eyes and continued moving forward, _get it over with_. Jack was petrified and Ron muttered:

"You're not going to kiss him are you?" Harry glanced at him for a second.

"That's the game isn't it?" By that time he'd already kissed half the circle - female half - and cared very little. He took his last step towards Jack and put a hand on his knee. He leaned closer and pecked him on the lips. Half the crowd went potty potter, the other half went silent. Meanwhile Harry turned the bottle and kissed Parvati. The game goes on, after all. It meant little to nothing to Harry.

It meant a great deal more to Ron, who confronted as soon as the game was over. He stared at Harry, as if seeing an Alien growing out of his nose.

"You're not euh…" He started uncertainly "Gay, are you?"

"What? Cause I kissed Jack?" He replied with an amused frown "Seriously mate, after 6 or 7 of those I could kiss _Hagrid_ to pass my turn faster"

This made Ron cringe with laughter as he clasped Harry's shoulder, towering over him. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin"

"""""""""

Gay. Gay is an interesting notion. Harry had never given it much thought; he'd never been asked. If anyone were to ask him, he would shrug and leave it at that. He'd never had time for sexuality. He'd kissed a couple of girls and one guy - thank you game night - and cared very little either way. Jack's lips had not set him on fire, nor had anyone else's. He glanced at his textbook, reading the same page for the sixth time. _Thank Merlin_ , Ron had said, as if Merlin had a part in it, perhaps he was gay.

A bag was put noisily onto the table, a deliberate act to make presence known. Harry looked up just as Malfoy sat down with his fingertips posed elegantly on the wood. Even relaxed, his jawline was firm and drawn tightly, his lips pursed disdainfully, his gray eyes half lidded with boredom, his hair styled back, leaving just a stray bang to cut the symmetrie of his face. Harry had to admit that the man was quite good looking when he wasn't puffed red with anger or appall.

"Before you make a belligerent remark Potter; I _am_ sitting here and if it bothers you, _you_ may take your leave" Malfoy declared, surprising Harry who certainly wasn't about to say anything. He let him unpack in peace, observing his movements with keen interest. Only after he was well settled and had written at least two lines did Harry dare to ask:

"You know about homosexuality right?"

Malfoy spared him a tired glance and continued writing as he replied:

"Cleanliness and lubrication charm, stay away from silk sheets, never after dinner. Now be kind and shut up Pothead, I'm working"

Said Pothead did indeed hold his tongue. He took it from the given information that Malfoy was indeed gay, or at least had some experience. A small dainty piece of parchment was blown his way, atop of it was written in fashionable black ink: Advanced Ingredient Extraction, Book II.

"Fetch that" Malfoy ordered.

"Pardon?"

He put his quill down dramatically and feigned something that resembled a tragedy.

"Oh, is it to menial a job for _the_ Harry Potter? I do apologise, _your majesty_. Now then, _Sir,_ fetch that"

For a moment Harry was stunned. It felt like being treated as a house elf. He threw the paper back.

"Get it yourself" Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Look you foolish four eyed twat" He started "You can accio it here with your majestic wand and stay on your lazy ass"

"So can _you_ , Ice git"

"I _can't_!" He hissed back, both looking each other in the eye. It took him a moment but eventually he remembered: no wand. He huffed and accioed the book wordlessly.

"It's your fault for picking the losing side, lard hair"

Malfoy didn't reply to that. He continued working, leaving Harry to reflect upon the situation. Part of him felt anger towards the Slytherin for acting with such disdain, as the spoilt brat that he was at 11; the other part of him admired him for remaining the same, despite having lost everything. The conflicting sides in him frustrated him to no end and he left with a huff, while Malfoy remained composed; something Harry had never mastered.

No sleep and no warmth that night. Harry had held it every night since. The wand was powerful in its simplicity, unlike Harry's own, and yielded an aura that matched him more and more. He waited for the glow to spark his own but that night remained quiet. Maybe it would never come back; and in truth, that was his worse fear.

""""""""""

"Did you hear?" Lee Jordan started at the beginning of dinner "Apparently Professor Partridge wants to add a class to the Slytherins"

Hermione's head immediately shot up, shocked that they were allowed extra classes. Harry, knowing Professor P somewhat, could guess. Professor Partridge was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, a former auror who'd benefited from early retirement. Since the beginning of his pension, roughly 5 years previously, he had indulged in a lifestyle he could only dream of before: plenty of food, lazy days, sleeping in. He had gained a fair few stone and had become pudgy. He had a gray moustache _glued_ crookedly to his upper lip; an attempt at restoring a previous luscious moustache that had been singed during a mission. During his years at Hogwarts, sorted into Hufflepuff, he was bullied by a group of Slytherins and it had ruined his confidence and his academic period. He'd hated Slytherins ever since.

"Correction:" Lee added "He wants to _replace_ a class. Someone heard him discussing with Professor McGonagall the option of dropping defence against the Dark Arts for a preventative lesson"

"What kind of prevention?" Hermione declared with crossed arms. Lavender replied in Lee's stead:

"To make sure they don't follow You know who of course"

For a moment there was silence, an instant for all to assess how they felt about the information. Hermione quickly huffed in outrage as many others decided _rationally_ that it was a good idea.

"That is ridiculous!" She said "As if every Slytherin is like that and no other member of the other houses believes in purity. _Might_ I remind you" She stated "That many of you are purebred and that a great deal of your families voted against inbreeding too; _and_ might I remind you also that 43% of the Slytherins are not pure, the same percentage on average as the other houses"

Harry nodded by her side and the rest simply stared at Hermione. Lee shared glances with them before replying:

"But _we've_ never done anything"

"And that insures that none of our house ever will?"

Harry veered from left to right, observing the feelings portrayed in them his friends; disappointed as he was by some of them. Most of them went from their dinner to her Hermione to each other and back to their dinner. Harry put his fork down and sighed:

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin" They all looked at him "Said it suited me well"

He hated playing the _Harry Potter_ card, but by then he knew that it had influence and if he could use it at his advantage he might as well. They had no immediate reply to that so he added:

"What did McGonagall say anyway?"

"Said the idea was preposterous" Lee whispered.

Hermione took Harry's hand beneath the table and sent him a proud smile. The embrace felt foreign but pleasant to him; like he had accomplished something and his heart reached out to the Slytherin cause a little more. Lavender grabbed her spoon noisily.

"Well it didn't put you in Slytherin" She reasoned as Harry wanted to kick her swiftly.

"Only because I told it not too. If I had let it decide without speaking like you all did I would be in Slytherin"

She paused, ate a fistful of rice and declared:

"Well _that's_ different"

Of course it was. He agreed wholeheartedly with Professor McGonagall, the idea was preposterous. He looked up at the said Slytherins' table; their leader being conspicuous by his absence. Blaise Zabini's side was empty as he ate in silence; over his left eye he nursed a growing bruise that he wore with pride. Harry realised that _they_ did not need preventative lessons, the other students might though.

He looked up at the ceiling, where the raindrops wouldn't reach his face. Beneath the dark clouds the Great Hall was basked into a shadow like gleam; a mirage of the outside world. Thunder banged above them but the noise was glamoured and the explosion of bright light drowned in the oblivion of the evening feast. Harry leaned over to Hermione and excused himself.

The night air made his skin come out in goosebumps, his hands flying up to cover his arms. Thick droplets crashed against his glasses, creating a fog around him; through the mist though, he could still _see_. Amidst the clouds, a brilliant light show started in tune with the wind. One by one, strong bolts reached the earth, a god's toy. Harry watched them fall around them, some close some far, some loud and some deafening. Like a spectacular dance playing in front of him. Of _them_.

"Stalking is out of fashion Potter" A voice drawled from the steps next to him, he recognized straight away as it added "Come to think of it, you've never really been _in_ fashion, have you?"

He could distinguish platinum hair and a shape unmoving but close to him. Rapidly he scourgified his glasses and observed. Malfoy's head was hanging low, his face hidden by his unstyled hair. His back remained straight even though his shoulders hung lower than they should have. Harry opened his mouth to ask but was cut off:

"Don't be the fucking hero" Malfoy said and looked up into the sky. His lip was cracked and his cheek was swollen; beneath his jaw line a purple bruise was appearing. On his neck, there lied the faded attempt at glamouring in the form of beige streaks of makeup. He sighed loudly.

"I cannot use magic to protect myself and if I retaliate physically then I will be labelled _violent_ ; are we quite done?"

"I haven't even said anything" Harry finally retorted.

"The words were so obviously sketched in your disgusting spectacles that it would have been a waste of time to utter them out loud"

Harry sat down next to him, keeping his eyes firmly fixated on the man by his side. He saw his fingers twitch over his pocket instinctively. Harry did the same, he knew what it meant.

"Do you miss your wand?" He asked.

"No" Malfoy expressed slowly "I could not use the stupid thing even I did have it in my possession"

"What does that mean?"

"Fuck off, Potter"

Every word was clearly a struggle for him and Harry wondered why he still took the time to speak with so many of them. He looked at his jaw and felt fascinated by the colour. He wore the same expression that Malfoy had had himself, two years previously at Malfoy Manor. He lifted his hand to gently touch the fair skin. It was as soft as bedsheets, as cold as winter and as pure as gold. Malfoy pulled back with a jerk standing up suddenly. He wanted to spout words but none reached his tongue, so he ran away. He always runned away, banging the door as he could behind him, a swift motion.

Harry waited a moment, and realised with an air of surprised, that his fingers were still tingling.

 **Chapter three all done! Thank you for your patience xx not sure if it is clear but I'm trying to model the first few chapters in the same way: friday, saturday, sunday, monday kind of thing; it's a way of showing the strong routine element. I hope you like it!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The hissing stopped behind his ear; everything was silent, a weighing silence that made the darkness around his body appear as black as it had never been. Harry stopped climbing, his fingers slipping from the bars. The ground beneath his feet sunk into his bones, burning him right down to the core. His skin was glued, melted to the floor; no matter how hard he tried to pull, he was burning, unmoving. Within him he tried to scream, call for help, run, _anything;_ but he couldn't. Fire is consuming. Fiendfyre never ceases.

Until you wake up that is. Harry wiped the sweat off his brow before he realised that his left hand was clutching Malfoy's wand. It was burning in his palm, hotter than it had ever done before. He put his glasses on and stared at it for a second; he couldn't see anything odd, no glow, no sign. He felt the energy emanate from the wand, seep into him, it made him shiver. He felt powerful. He had felt that way before, when his fist collided with Malfoy's jaw, that _connection_.

He took the Marauder's map and searched for Malfoy's name, _again_. His steps were his new addiction, his snarky remarks the new black; and his name was untraceable. Blaise Zabini seemed to be sleeping peacefully next door, but the bed by his side was empty. Harry searched through the castle and finally found him. Atop the Astronomy Tower. Something tugged at Harry's conscious. It was Friday, and he always went up there on Friday; a great part of him wasn't sure he wanted to be confronted with Malfoy so early on the day; but then he figured that it was his part of town, and he would not give it to Malfoy, he was his rival for Merlin's sake.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. The moon was high up in the sky, illuminating the whole tower brilliantly, but there was no one there. Harry walked on towards the bars, passing that bundle of clothes without thinking. It took him a second to stop and realise. The fact that Malfoy was nowhere to be seen chilled him to the bones; because right then, he could _feel_ the presence, stronger than he had before. He turned round and for the first time genuinely approached the clothes. As he kneeled close to them, he finally saw the slow rise and fall, noticed that it was not just a bundle, it was simply two old blankets with a cushion made out of used jumpers. Harry wondered how he had never seen it before.

He lifted the blanket up slightly and there it was: that mop of blond hair he knew too well. He practically fell backwards with the choc. Every single Friday, _his_ Fridays, Malfoy had been there. He had heard him speak ridiculous things, heard him cry and scream. He had been lying next to Harry just as he had his breakdowns. For some reason, this angered him and he kicked Malfoy against the wall.

"What the fuck!" The blond yelled with a jerk, scrambling backwards. Harry stood up, heat rising to his eyes.

"Yes, what the fuck!" He retaliated "What the fuck are you doing here Malfoy?!"

" _Me_?" Malfoy stood to his feet, wearing black silk pyjamas crumpled over his hips "I came here _long_ before you Potter so keep your anger for some fucking idiot"

"Oh yeah? Long before me huh?"

Malfoy pushed the blanket off his feet and faced Harry with tired eyes and arms crossed over his chest.

"The cold came and it made you flee the dungeons, some hero" He started "You came here round three in the morning, banging the freaking door and then you started talking to Dumbledore, spouting rubbish about _It's my fault they're dead, that you're dead_. Reminder: Yes he is dead, and the dead do not speak, in case your senile brain forgot. And then you cried. It was almost cute"

Harry paused. It was true, all of it. Dammit. Malfoy _had_ been there during his breakdown, and had been there at his every breakdown since.

"Why the hell did you never say you were here?" He asked, pushing his bangs out of his eyes with a frustrated shaking hand. Malfoy sighed.

"I'm just trying to sleep you tosser, I don't feel like getting out of bed to discuss your tantrums"

"Bed?" Harry looked around and noticed that indeed, it did look like a bed. More like a bed than it did a makeshift 'fall asleep by accident' kind of thing "You sleep up here?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes disdainfully and walked over to the bars, turning his back on Harry. He leaned against the railing, looking much like Harry did himself of an evening.

"Just fuck off, Potter" He whispered. The stiffness of Malfoy's back betrayed the answer. For some unfathomable reason, Harry didn't like the creases in Malfoy's shirt; they simply didn't fit. They didn't follow the lines of his body. Harry moved closer, maybe the distance stopped him from seeing. He mimicked the position, his body turned towards the blond in search of a body beneath those clothes. It didn't seem right, at all. He reached towards him, ready to remove those creases. Malfoy turned and grabbed his hand midway.

"What do you want?" He demanded, almost digging his nails in Harry's knuckles. The latter faltered and froze. Malfoy's touch was hot against his skin; so close but with an intoxicating distance. They had been closer before, but it was so slow and deliberate. His skin was tingling as he observed the vast contrast between their tones. One so white. The silk sleeve slid down his arm, trailing along the outskirts of the Dark Mark. If he twitched his finger slightly, he could graze along Malfoy's skin.

"You…" His voice trailed along, wishing he could take his glasses off so that he might be less aware of _Malfoy_ , of his eyes, his skin, his silk, his energy and his hold. Malfoy pulled his hand back, before Harry completely entwined their fingers.

"What is it?" He rolled his eyes "Did you leave your brain in bed?"

He turned away from Harry, as the latter remained. Harry stopped long enough to hear his heartbeat and feel the heat on his chest. He turned and ran.

It was a tad melodramatic perhaps, and very un-hero like, but Harry felt he had little options. It had been close; Merlin knows to what, but it had been too close.

"""""""""

"Harry, _honestly_ " Hermione started "He is not going to lose his nose or turn into a snake or something"

Harry almost laughed at that. He had been staring at Malfoy again, it had become his new lunch somehow. Ginny butt in, pushing Ron out of the way to sit on the other side of Harry. She put her arm around Harry's shoulders, wearing a mischievous smile.

"Oh do tell; Harry, are your eyes glued to some sweet girl?" She wondered. Hermione took a spoonful of soup and casually replied:

"To a guy actually"

" _Blplf!_ " Ron practically threw up his drink on Seamus, who yelled out something gaelic. Ginny laughed and pinched his cheek.

"Awww, is my sweetheart into a sexy guy?"

Hermione laughed and Harry rolled his eyes.

"He's staring at Malfoy, _again_ " She explained. Ron pfioued and continued eating, the rest shrugged and went back to their activities. Harry thought it was funny, how it meant so little to them that he was looking at Malfoy, while in all honesty, if he ever had to _look_ at a guy, it would probably be Malfoy. Inside his robes, there were two wands, both as cold as Malfoy's sneer.

Before leaving for their afternoon lessons, Harry cornered Hermione. He waited for them all to leave; not that he was embarrassed to ask, but for some reason, he didn't want people to know of his interests. Hermione would end up guessing anyway, he decided to beat her to the punch, just a little. He leaned against the wall and weighed his words, hoping she wouldn't figure out too much.

"To be stripped off of one's magic" He started carefully "That's not just getting your wand confiscated, right?"

Hermione had a second to assess his meaning, before her mind picked up on the fact that she could share her knowledge. She took her usual pose, one hand in the air, waving with explanations.

"Certainly not. To strip a Wizard of his magic, is to remove the magical core from his body. It is a very painful procedure, also known as _Corvin's extraction_ , from the Wizard who invented it. Basically you extract the magical fiber and transfer it to the Wizard's wand. If the wand is unavailable then the extraction will fail, for the fiber is only compatible with the correct wand"

 _Painful procedure_. He breathed in; to continue on his thoughts, he had to reveal more.

"How come Malfoy can still use his wand, and make potions, if he has no magic _core_?" He asked. Hermione made no remark of his clearly growing obsession and replied:

"He can use his wand because his magical core has been stocked into it; if he holds his wand, he is basically _back to normal_. The extraction is to stop a Wizard from using someone else's wand or using wandless magic. He can still make potions because he is still a Wizard, a magical _being_ , comparable to a squib: A Wizard who cannot perform magic, but a squib is perfectly capable of mixing potions. In fact, it is believed that Wulfric Waggen, _the_ great potion master, was a squib"

A squib. Harry tried imagining Malfoy being a squib and almost scoffed - force of habit - at the terribly ironic picture. Then it occurred to him, the reason for the interrogation; after all he wanted to know why the Hawthorn wand grew warm. He decided that he might as well come clean.

"I have Malfoy's old wand" He said "And from time to time, it gets warm. Why?"

"Transmission magic" She exclaimed quickly "It has to be! During the extraction, the Wizard's wand is kept close by, for the magical core to be transferred; but the officials thought Malfoy's old wand had been destroyed. Part of his magical core must have been transferred to his other wand by mistake!"

Very literally, Harry held Malfoy's magic in his hands - pocket to be precise - and he had connected with it on more than one occasion. He thanked Hermione, just as she was starting her own investigation. He left before she could ask anything, knowing that the likelihood that she already had the answers was pretty high.

On his way to Herbology, he walked by a group of students gathered near the entrance. He recognized Cormac McLaggen - by the stance and pitch of his voice - and retained a disgusted noise in his throat. The Gryffindor was being his usual superior self in the presence of some younger students that Harry did not recognize.

Neville walked up behind him and started talking excitedly about some plant Harry had never heard of, and would probably never hear of again. Harry walked as fast as he politely could to find Ron and talk about Quidditch. Madam Sprout went on about the healing powers of some _Carami-_ something; but Harry had long since decided that he would fail Herbology anyway.

As he reached his bed - window one that night - it occurred to him that the day had gone by fast. He had not been attacked, insulted, had not saved the day or been a hero; and yet time had not weighed him down. He put his arms behind his head and stared up. It was starting to grow so cold that he needed an extra jumper, and yet his head was always somewhere up there, atop the Astronomy Tower, where he performs no warming spells and where the cold could freeze his mind. He jumped up and hurried out. Without hesitation he knocked on his neighbours' door. The door opened and he froze.

Blaise Zabini was there once more, and not in a flimsy towel. He was wearing tight black jeans that hugged his hips, revealing curves - and bulges - that had better been hidden. He was bare chested, leaning against the door frame to flatter his abs. Round his neck he carried a Ravenclaw tie hung loosely. As soon as he saw Harry he sighed.

"We have got to stop meeting like this, Potter" He said "What do you want?"

"Well…" Harry started but was temporarily distracted by Zabini flexing his pec. He cleared his throat and added "I had a question about Malfoy"

Zabini rolled his eyes and ushered for him to come in.

"You can't just leave things alone can you?" He turned away from Harry, seemingly to adjust his trousers and grab a drink "What is it now?"

Harry paused, looking at his back as he leaned forward over his desk.

"Euh…" He closed his eyes a second, willing himself to remain composed "Could you put something on? It's… distracting"

"Oh get over yourself" Was all Zabini answered as he sat on his desk, waiting for Harry "Get to the point, and get to it quick. As you may have noticed, I am expecting company"

 _Ravenclaw company apparently, you traitor_ , Harry thought but dismissed it. He glanced around the room, long enough to see that the two single beds were pushed next to each other, and Zabini was clearly utilizing both of them; for his company presumably.

"Why doesn't he sleep here?" Harry asked. Zabini rolled his eyes and laid down on the bed(s), taking up as much space as he possibly could. Harry felt queasy as he watched and remained at large.

"Well… I need both these beds to fuck my cute boys see" He started and then laughed loudly, holding onto his bare stomach "Oh you are so judgemental, Potter! You should have seen your face"

Harry tried controlling his blush, knowing full well that Zabini was right. The latter added casually:

"Nah. He just can't sleep here, don't know why" He looked up towards the ceiling "Can't imagine where he goes though"

The Gryffindor left him that, keeping the secret he held for himself. It was his spot after all; he wasn't going to encourage anyone to join him there. His spot, _and Malfoy's_ , he admitted begrudgingly. He returned to bed and grabbed the Marauder's map, searching first at the hospital wing. There marked was: _Elena Falken_ , Harry knew her as Hufflepuff's new chaser. No other names there. His eyes searched the Astronomy tower, though for some reason, he did not want to see. It was all _missing_. Dignity, warming spells, common sense, normality, magic; Malfoy's name written upon that tower, made it all go missing.

It was Tuesday; his feet would not leave his bed to carry him to the Astronomy tower, follow his head. It felt strange to even try; and somehow exhilarating. Funny, how such a small thing could make him feel something. He conjured his robes and walked; those few steps into some form of freedom.

"Peace is a word you know little of" Malfoy said upon his arrival. There was no bundle on the floor, it was void of presence and purpose as the Slytherin held it within his hands, gently stroking the railing. Harry stood next to him, looked out into the vast space displayed before his humble eyes. It was empty, too open to be comfortable, too confronting to be pleasant.

"Why do you sleep up here?" He asked. Malfoy glanced at him.

"Why do you?"

"I asked first"

"I didn't answer first"

Harry sighed and bent down to press his forehead against the metal, his skin burning against the cold.

"Is it even possible to have a conversation with you?" He wondered honestly. Malfoy shrugged but never offered an answer. Presumably he had too few conversations to know if he was capable of them. Harry looked out, surprised he was to find that everything looked the same; as if Tuesday Tower would show a sudden shift. It didn't even shift Malfoy - unless you count moving from the floor to the railing as _shifting_. The only one truly perturbed by this was Harry himself. He felt like an intruder. He whispered:

"Does my presence bother you?"

"Yes"

And it pleased him so much. An intruder is no hero.

"Do you see me as hero?"

"No"

"Does-"

"Shut up Potter."

Malfoy enjoyed the silence. Harry didn't. As he listened to the Slytherin breathing contentedly, basking in the peacefulness as if Harry wasn't there, he himself felt uncomfortable and edgy. How to be calm around Malfoy? The latter exhaled loudly.

"If you are going to breathe that loudly Potter" He said "Kindly do so out of my perimetre"

"Aren't you finding this weird?"

"I am _finding_ this annoying to a painful degree. Either remain quiet or leave now. It is late, I am in no mood for idle chit chat, and especially not with you"

Harry admired that in Malfoy; that his respect for him - because Harry knew that Malfoy respected him in a way - did not alter his inner vision of him; and where the world was becoming fake and _routinely_ turning round him, Malfoy - true to himself, always - gravitated only around himself. Harry gravitated around… himself too probably. He was following the flow, and he found himself as bored as his fans. Indeed, fans may remain fans, but get bored when their idol stops singing. He looked at Malfoy, ready with more question, anything to understand him somehow; but as he saw his face, he stopped. The Slytherin looked so _tired_ , so fed up and yet fascinated with the scene displayed before him. As if he was creating new exciting dreams, before tearing them apart a moment later. Harry observed, his glasses askew and his mouth halfway in motion. He held his tongue but it weighed on him.

Finally, as much as he wanted to stay, he wanted to return some of that respect to Malfoy. He decided that he could not, as instructed, _remain quiet_ , so he left.

After all, it wasn't really his day to be up the Tower anyway.

 **Oh my gosh. Over two months wait! That's probably about the worst I have ever done… I am so sorry. I'm doing a world tour at the moment, and it so happens that I don't have internet everywhere I go and I find myself being a little to occupied to get my computer out (and I cant stand writing on my phone). I have not abandoned this story yet, but I'll be honest in saying that I won't guarantee a date for the next chapter… Might be tomorrow, might be next week, might be next month. Hoping that you have not left me and that you like it! (Even though it's not moving that much)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **Nalu and Inukag: thank you for your review, I'm so glad you enjoyed the story and I do apologize for the timing of this chapter…**

 **Drarryislife05: thank you for reading, hope you'll like the chapter!**

 **Hydromiss: Thank you so much for your review! I'm practicing a lot that side of my writing, the 'engaging' bit, so I'm glad you thought it was! I guess you're lucky that I was writing, cause you get the update a mere 16h after your comment ;) Hope you'll like it!**

His feet carried him up the stairs without thinking. He was tired and his glasses failed to improve his nocturnal vision. His breath was still caught in his throat, somewhere between dream and reality. In a nightmare. The wind blew over him as he opened the door to the tower, like a killing curse through his veins. It was dark; the moon hidden behind thick clouds offered no reprieve. He felt blindly until he hit the railing, breathing in the crisp air, hitting his lungs like thorns.

Only then did he realise that he had stepped into someone's bedroom, and he hadn't even knocked. He took his wand out of his pocket and cast a silent _lumos_. He stopped for a moment to stare at the light. It was weak with a golden glow; it was warm; it felt foreign at the end of his hand. His eyes were invariably attracted to the empty space by the wall. No clothes, no Malfoy, no nothing. It stopped him in his tracks. The clothes weren't there, and even though he had never paid it much mind, their absence stung something deep inside of him. The clothes had never _not_ been there and for a moment it disorientated him; as if Malfoy's unknown presence had somehow eased the turmoil he was in. In the end, maybe that's why he had kept coming to the tower, regardless of temperature or comfort; maybe part of him had always known that there was someone there _not caring_ about him. He walked over to the emptiness and sat down in it, feeling it wash over his shoulders.

As he sat, the light at the end of the wand trembled and faded. Harry cast it once more and observed the wood. He saw then that he had inadvertently taken Malfoy's wand from the nightstand; he had gotten so used to holding it that he forgot it wasn't his own. It was the first time he had cast a spell with it; he felt powerful and oddly invading, knowing he held Malfoy's magic in his hands, while Malfoy himself possessed it no longer. He looked at the light, sensing the difference from his own magic. In parts it felt familiar, running from his fingertips to the core, but looking at it, that _glow_ was not part of him; somehow he couldn't see it being a part of Malfoy either.

How poetic, that on the only night Harry has Malfoy's wand, Malfoy is absent. As if the two were not meant to find each other again. Perhaps they shouldn't; Harry couldn't help but think that Malfoy had been stripped of his magic for a reason, and it certainly wasn't decorative. It certainly meant that he wasn't able to crucio Harry in bathrooms anymore.

He put the wand away and looked around him. Somehow the feeling was different. Malfoy's absence accentuated the general atmosphere of the place, and, not for the first time, Harry felt he shouldn't be there; that his constant visits were a form of disrespect towards Dumbledore and those who gave their lives. He sighed and left, not liking the added pressure.

He played with Malfoy's wand on the way back, swinging it by his side. He had left the lumos 'on', flickering with his step. It bounced with his feet, illuminating portraits and floor boards. In all fairness, it joined his arm perfectly. So different, and yet so much the same.

He tripped and stumbled, looked down in a would-be-panic, waiting to find the bundle of clothes. It wasn't there. Instead there was a little crack in the floor, betraying the spot where Peeves had placed his trap. Harry acknowledged it keenly; it was the first time that he stepped into it. Something was shifting. He knew his steps were as rhythmic as they had ever been, but an inch off center, so to speak. He was walking the same way, but in a different place.

""""""""

Saturday came and brought with it the rain. Harry sat by the window in his room looking at the pearls trickling down, turning into ice against the glass. The wind made them hit harshly, pushing them strongly in their wake. He sighed. The weather cancelled Quidditch. It was the first Saturday since the beginning of the year that they didn't play Quidditch. It seemed everything was falling apart. He laid his forehead down on his knees listening to the crashing droplets.

Hermione came by earlier, offering him a "winter study session" and frankly he wasn't too keen on the idea; Ron wanted to drag him to the Three Broomsticks but as they were probably playing again in the evening, he decided not to go drink. Quiet day in his room; he didn't like it. His fingers, and indeed all his muscles, were itching and aching. When the knocks came to the door, he didn't know if it was his heart or his mind ticking like a bomb. Until he heard:

"Potter! I am _here_ " He frowned and got up, having not recognized the voice, and wondering if he was supposed to meet someone. It was Blaise Zabini, dressed. Without waiting for an invitation he walked in and looked around the room. He proceeded to lie down nonchalantly on Harry's _door_ bed.

"Can I help you, Zabini?" Harry finally asked. Zabini acknowledged him curiously.

"Draco's in the Hospital Wing" He simply stated. It caught him so by surprise that he sat down on the side of his desk.

"Why?"

"He got attacked some time during the night" _Explains the absence_ "Exactly what they did to him I'm not sure. His eyes are non functional and he's got a broken nose and rib. Rumour has it they were Gryffindors, four"

"And you are telling me this, why?" He replied, trying to keep his temper and choc down. Zabini shrugged.

"Thought you might like to know"

Harry had to retain his smile as he sensed that the Slytherin was attempting to conceal his concern. The words remained unspoken but they both knew that Harry was going to do something about it, he'd have to. It annoyed him that Zabini had understood that so rapidly.

"What do you want from me?" Harry wondered nonetheless. Zabini got up, flicked his cloak and replied:

"Some bloody action, that's what I'd want" He left the room, clicking the door noisily and _dramatically_ behind him. Harry waited a moment, feeling the headache spread across his ear-drums as he thought idly:

 _Yeah, me too._

""""""""""

He never went to visit Malfoy in the hospital wing of course; he wasn't supposed to. He followed his unmoving footsteps across the map, sensing the sleep right through the paper. He whispered ' _mischief managed_ ' and tucked it away in his robes. He had of course observed what he needed to observe, and not just seen what he wanted to see. Four Gryffindors. It didn't take him long to guess.

A young Ravenclaw crossed his path in the hallways and stared at him. Harry flashed him a passing gaze but moved on down the stairs. He was on a mission. Somewhere in the great hall, playing exploding snaps no doubt, were the people he was looking for. He walked deliberately up to them.

That's where part of the fame was hidden. He did not make a scene. He never raised his voice or used his wand. People hardly turned round to see what was happening. His voice was steady and his hand on the table was as firm as his eyes. He left no doubt, no room for speculation. Four pairs of eyes peered at him through slick locks of hair; ashamed? No. Regret? No. Would they do it again? Hell no.

Harry walked away, as neutral as he had arrived. The guy had tried to speak through him but years of experience had taught him to ignore such behaviour; and years of experience had taught him how best to deal with bullies. He was fervently hoping that that was the end of it.

It took an hour for everyone to know; so by the time evening rolled in and the party began, the details had been spilled and the students had chosen which side they were on. There was a plus point to being the hero: even if people disagreed with him, they rarely actually stood up against him. _Except Malfoy_ , Harry's mind supplied helpfully. They were in their usual circle, searching for a new game because boredom was kicking in. Hermione, always uninterested in those evenings, leaned close to Harry and whispered:

"McGonagall heard of it. He's expelled"

Harry fought the smug smile reaching his features and calmly replied:

"And the others?"

"Are getting off with a warning because it's their first incident"

He raised his glass and raised it proudly.

"I'll drink to that!"

Seamus glanced at him but remained silent. He had expelled an Gryffindor; even though it was a bastard, it put shame on the house and no one wanted to comment on it. Only Astoria, the outsider now comfortable amongst lions, could speak freely.

"I'm glad he's gone" She said over her drink "I heard in the common room that Draco might not get over it"

Ginny put her hand over her knee and added:

"He will. Madame Pomfrey is the most badass healer out there"

"If I was her" Ron started almost casually "I'd leave him in that state. Smother him with a pillow or something"

Hermione hit him as Harry observed the reactions. _Funny_ , he thought, noticing that the boys generally agreed and nodded, and that the girls were choosing to send him dirty looks. Harry himself knew how these things went. They'd fight over it and he'd intervene when it got too far.

"That's barbaric Ron" Ginny said "I don't like him either but he's pathetic enough as it is without being beaten up"

 _Pathetic?_ Seeing Malfoy sleep on the floor in an old blanket; yes that is pretty pathetic, but he wondered in what other ways he was pathetic. Squib? That was just plain sad, or ironic, but never pathetic. For some reason the word bothered him. In truth, Harry held the key to bringing Malfoy some prestige again.

"Oh come on" Seamus added "The tosser deserves that. Just once in the hospital wing, he'll be out by tomorrow and that'll be the end"

"Just once!" Hermione scoffed "Do it once, why not twice, thrice, and on and on. That is a preposterous argument!"

"Don't you want to see him punished a little?"

"He spent months in azkaban!" She exclaimed "And now he has no more magic, no more money, no nothing. I think he's had enough punishment. He's a bully but not a bad guy. Let me remind you that without him, we might have lost Harry; you all know the story"

The boys looked at each other. Yes, they knew the story. Harry would have been sent straight to Voldemort if Malfoy hadn't 'not recognized' him. Harry finished the rest of his glass.

"And" He started "This is not his first in the hospital wing" He got up "Now if you'll excuse me"

"But we haven't even played anything yet!"

"You've done enough to annoy me"

He walked out. Ron followed him and grabbed his name outside of the fat lady's portrait.

"Hey mate" He breathed "You're not going to see Malfoy are you?"

"What if I am?"

"Don't" He sighed "Look I get it. He saved your life, you saved his, whatever; but leave it; that guy is toxic"

Harry looked at his best friend's face. He realised with little surprise that Ron had had many moments of toxicity, and so had indeed many people in Harry's life. He knew he fed on Adrenaline, on the rush, but did he like toxicity too? It was possible. The hero and the victim at the same time, seemed to be the story of his life somehow.

"You know what?" He answered "I really don't care anymore"

And he walked away.

Safe in the confines of his bedroom he got the map out. It was eleven pm, early by Saturday standards but late for many. He searched the hospital wing and found Malfoy's footsteps pacing slowly between the bed and the door, hesitating it would seem to go out. Harry could guess, if he really allowed himself to think of it. He sighed, hating the predictability of it all and got up.

After having checked that the nurse was absent he walked in. Malfoy was right by the door and looked up, sensing around him.

"Who's there?" He demanded.

Harry waited, looked at him, now that he could unguarded. Malfoy's gray iris' had turned blue, like a veil over his entire eye. It made his gaze sharper somehow, even though he couldn't see. Finally he crossed his arms.

"Potter?" He sighed "I recognize your indiscret breathing"

"What happened?" Was his only reply. His eyes rolled instinctively.

"You know what happened, you tosser"

Sitting there in a hospital robe, blind and magicless, Harry could get why people called him pathetic. He had bags under his eyes and had clearly missed out on sleep.

"Does it hurt?" He wondered.

"Oh no. Broken ribs are terribly comfortable, come closer, I'll show you what it's like"

"You'd have to see me first"

"I could detect your exact location by your atrocious smell"

He was glad to see that nothing on that front was lost; but as he saw Malfoy shift on the bed, he saw that he was clearly in pain. He'd had a few broken bones over time, two days reparation; in a way Seamus was right, tomorrow he'd be out.

"Will you get your eyesight back?" He asked instead. Malfoy crossed his legs - a painful motion but he probably had to retain some dignity.

"I might not want to. If you're going to be in my face constantly, I'd rather not see"

"And seriously?"

"Seriously" Malfoy sighed "Just stay the fuck out of my business"

They both knew he couldn't. Harry walked a few steps closer, knowing he was safe around him for now.

"Do you want me to take you to the astronomy tower?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you can't sleep elsewhere"

Malfoy's face snapped towards the sound of his voice. He waited a moment, evaluating. Of course it was true. It made no sense, but it was true. They were both inexplicably drawn to the Astronomy tower; maybe the lieu of their demise.

"Potter, once and for all. You are not and will never be my hero, got it?" He snapped "I am _not_ your charity case. If you want a victim then find someone else"

"But you're great victim material"

"Watch your filthy tongue. Do not even dare say that"

Harry was honestly impressed and in his mind, he had already retracted the words. True, Malfoy is no victim, he's a criminal. He sat down on the chair next to the bed and just looked at him. Not for the first time was he mesmerized by that face, but it was the first time he could look openly. It made him feel uncomfortable in a way, the way it played with his inside to be so close to the man. His nose had been completely repaired and there were no more blemishes on his face. Harry had never strived for perfection, but he admired people who just _got it right_. He wanted to feel Malfoy's power hitting him like it used to, the rush of the fight and of the challenge. See the fire in his eyes. He wanted the world back that he understood; where he was a hero and a victim, a boy addicted and surrounded by his personalised drugs; a world so messed up it needed to be mended. The only thing left that was messed up were they, Malfoy and himself; and perhaps there was the attraction; other than physical; Harry had accepted that Malfoy was physically _interesting_ , he would not go as far as to say attractive. Malfoy interrupted his reverie with a:

"What do you want, Potter?"

"You" He blurted out and it froze him. Malfoy simply rolled his eyes.

"Haha. Now piss off"

He had held his breath, but was so relieved that Malfoy took it as moquerie; which it was. It was Harry making a moquerie of his own sanity. He'd claim temporary insanity.

"I have your wand" He admitted and Malfoy froze. His eyes dashed right and left as if in a dream; Harry wondered what he saw in that darkness. His voice went down to a whisper as he asked:

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to care about something"

He sat up and felt for Harry's collar, almost caressing his neck at the same time.

"Now listen carefully, Pot-head" He murmured " _Leave me alone_. Your mere presence makes my stomach turns. You poke your nose into affairs that do not concern you; you try to make me become like _you_. You are pitiful and disgusting. I can't hurt you, and you know what? I won't; because that's what you want, you sycophant. You follow me around because I'm the only one who _wants_ to hurt you, but I won't play that bloody game. Find your fucking fix elsewhere"

He discarded him like garbage and in truth, Harry felt dirty. Malfoy was right, _again_. He got up slowly, walking away without another word. He leaned against the closed door for a moment; a smile appeared on his face. Without warning a chuckle worked its way up his throat. Find his fucking fix _elsewhere?_ He'd just got it.

"""""""""

The next day, Malfoy was still not out of the hospital wing. His ribs were repaired, they had to be. Meaning that if he was still there, his eyesight had not yet returned. At lunch Harry turned to Hermione.

"Malfoy can't be permanently blind can he?"

She shrugged apologetically.

"Anything is possible Harry" She said "I doubt that he is but eyes are very complicated and delicate, it takes a long time to get anything done to them" She regarded him curiously "You worry about him don't you?"

He nodded slowly, acceptant.

"No one else will"

"Zabini does"

True. Why did Harry keep forgetting about him? They used each other for information and action but disregarded each other completely. Zabini was the one to alert him, Harry was just egocentric; a trade of himself he had learned to accept over time. Hermione patted his back as if reading his mind, which she probably did; Harry had never gotten the hang of occlumency.

"Why do you care so much about him?" She asked. Harry weighed the truth against convenience, both were towering over his shoulders like bricks. He lowered his head, his voice and his pride as he replied:

"I guess… I feel like myself with him"

Hermione nodded slowly and grabbed a piece of bread, pretending nothing was said, the way she knew Harry wanted it to be. Ron watched the exchange with an unusual grace, in on the secret. For a moment it felt like before, just them against the world. It took some time for it to dawn on him; that if Harry felt like himself with Malfoy, he didn't with him.

"Oi mate" He called "Quidditch later?"

Harry hardly raised his eyes to look at him as he replied machine-like:

"Yeah sure"

Quidditch was the usual, except it was Sunday. Up in the air, Harry could pretend that it was Saturday and that this was routine. Through the chaotic mess of the last days, somehow it felt nice to find it again; just for a moment. He flew high in the air, looked around him, felt the wind blow around his ears. He knew Ron was looking at him, but he didn't care. They wouldn't play against each other anyway, they were of different specialities, so Harry enjoyed the calm. Every so once in a while, peace felt nice. He looked down, saw the scorch patches on the ground, the battle scars; much the same as the ones he had on his chest. It reminded him of fire, of Malfoy. Malfoy was like a fire, unpredictable, fascinating, sometimes weak and barely alive, sometimes strong, destructive even. He was burning Harry's cozy, boring bubble, piercing through it harshly. Did he want that? Yes. No. Had he created that bubble? Yes. No. The questions were twirling in his head; he just wanted to be rid of that, and of boredom. It seemed he could not get both.

Ron flew next to him and stopped in the air.

"Harry" He began "What's going on?"

"I don't know"

He looked at the clouds, they were unmoving around him, just like his life was on pause.

"Are you into Malfoy?" Ron added.

"In what way?"

"You know what I mean"

Harry thought about it for a moment and replied easily:

"No. That would be too easy"

"What?"

"Don't ask me to explain" He sighed "When I'll get it myself I'll tell you okay?"

Ron nodded and flew off. Harry appreciated the gesture, knowing how uncomfortable it made the redhead to discuss _that_ possibility. Hell, it even made him uncomfortable.

Is uncomfortable good? Doesn't uncomfortable mean you're getting out of your safety zone? Stepping over certain boundaries into something new? Getting _out_ of the routine? Too many questions. Malfoy was the bloody question mark, and the period at the same time. It made no sense. His life had always been 'weird' but in the end, everything had made perfect sense. He was all alone coping with something that was… inexplicable.

 **Hey folks! Long time no see. Sorry about that… I just have so little time to write lately; and hence so little time to actually pay attention on the storyline… I'm not entirely sure where I'm getting (okay yeah I do, but only a little); so if you guys have suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them! I'm hoping to catch up on my tardiness soon.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **Morganna12: Thank you so much for commenting! I hate that this is all taking much longer than I wanted… (explanations at the end if you want)**

 **Hydromiss: Oh never apologize for 'excessive commenting'! I think any writer (including me) regards it as a great compliment that someone would take the time to comment, even more so when it's a constructive and interesting piece of writing! I am very satisfied (and a little smug) that you got what I was trying to explain. Going from 'everything to nothing', is such a choc that indeed it leaves us emotionally lost, as you say. Harry is no longer a hero, but can't seem to let the status go. On the one hand he hates that people see him like that, on the other he feels he can't be anything other. Draco is indeed of a different variety entirely. While one is given all the world has to give, the other has lost everything that mattered; and they're both complete wrecks. I won't reveal too much, you'll just have to see ;) I do apologize for the way the next chapter is, and the timing too. Please see the notes for more information.**

"He can see"

It was his version of the Sunday times, on Monday. Ginny came to the breakfast table, bringing Astoria, _Switzerland_ between Gryffindor and Slytherin. She was the one to bring the news. They both sat down near him and as she picked up a piece of bread, Astoria added:

"Apparently it's a little blurred still but he can see"

"How do you know?"

"I heard some people saying it this morning and I just saw him outside of the Great Hall"

He didn't care what people might say or think, he acted on instinct and his own thoughts or common sense seemed to still be in bed; he bolted. He got up and jogged towards the exit, ignoring the prying eyes around him. Following the path to the owlery, he saw Malfoy walking slowly, easy to catch up. Harry could have been at his level in two seconds but something stopped him. Instinct is all very nice, but it doesn't put the right words in owns mouth. Malfoy stopped in front of him, didn't turn round but it was a distinct warning to Harry. The latter chose to ignore it, as he always did and came closer to him.

"Potter" Malfoy started slowly "You are getting on my nerves"

"Is your eyesight back?"

Malfoy turned sharply towards him. His eyes were still glazed over but clearer than they were; the veil was gone but a faint blue tone remained. His gaze lost none of its power.

"What? Are you my mother now?" He sighed. Harry didn't have an answer himself. His head was filled with questions and they came out randomly without him giving authorisation for them to be uttered.

"Do you miss magic?"

Malfoy regarded him curiously a moment; he then turned away and continued on his road. Harry stayed next to him, walking along.

"I mean it" He added "I have your wand, it works"

"And you are willing to give it to me?"

"I could yes"

"That's illegal" He groaned, faltering a little in his step but not his stance "And you know it" He stopped there, looking at the ground an instant. He let out a long breath "Oh really Potter… You have to stop all your ridiculous _danger_ fantasies/obsessions. Your puppets won't love you less if you give it to me, and I won't hate you less so _fuck off_ "

Malfoy pushed him with his shoulder and moved on. This time, Harry let him go. It was for the danger true, because Malfoy had always been a formidable rival with some magic.

""""""""

 _Toxic, find a fix, obsession._ The words had been said, and had been thought for a while. Harry was treated like an addict, and in all honesty, he probably was. People expected his actions and even his replies. Danger was his kick, it always was; luckily enough he had had plenty of resources throughout his life. When it stopped, everything stopped with it. He had to admit he was looking for ways to sustain that rush, and Malfoy being the "bad guy", was the obvious easy solution.

Harry turned in his bed, flopping his face into the pillow with a sigh.

 _Well… the first step is admitting it_.

He took his glasses off as they were pinching his nose and put them on the nightstand. As he reached over his fingers touched the warm surface of the Hawthorn wand, still waiting and wanting to be returned to its owner. Harry glanced at it with his impossible vision. He had held it so often, it was part of his routine. It felt warm in his palm and fueled his addiction in discreet ways. He put it inside the drawer, away from his prying - though limited - gaze.

He had to kick it. Kick the addiction, kick the problem and kick his butt.

He sighed, understanding addiction and addicts; and knowing instinctively that it was going to be tough. He turned noisily on his side, willing himself to sleep. It took him an hour for him to realise that he was sleeping in the wrong bed. It was door evening, and the moon was shining through his window onto him. It took him an additional hour to finally change bed.

""""""""""

"You look like shit" Ron said at breakfast. Harry took a piece of his toast and thought idly: _that was fast_. Though in all fairness, he had probably been looking like shit for a very long time, Ron's just a little slow. He looked up, toast halfway done and halfway to his mouth, and noticed at once the empty seat at the Slytherin table. Zabini was sitting alone, perhaps because Malfoy's vision still wasn't back to normal. _Kick it_. He ate his toast, spread some more peanut butter on it and started a conversation with Seamus. Trying to understand his language, was enough to keep him occupied for a while.

When he left the Great Hall, it was automatic to glance over. Malfoy still wasn't there; but Zabini was and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow in true Malfoy fashion; Harry felt uncomfortable beneath the scrutinisation. It was like the bloody man could read through him and was either cocky about it, or disappointed. _Look somewhere else for a hero_. He walked away, almost feeling Zabini's smile in his back.

Professor Binns read through him. Literally. Harry was late for class and as he searched the room looking for Ron and Hermione, Professor Binns _floated_ through him, quoting from some history book. He only noticed because he felt the cold run through him; his eye caught Malfoy's hair. He rushed to where Hermione was waving at him, before he might stare at the man. He managed to keep his eyes off anyone; sadly this also kept his attention away from the class. Hermione did pinch him a couple times, and after a few failed attempts she huffed and rolled her eyes, taking his parchment and writing random facts on it.

At the end of the class, she grabbed his sleeve and whispered aggressively:

"I'm not doing that for every lesson"

They both knew she would of course, but he smiled and nodded. As they moved out of the classroom, last because Ron is lazy; Harry walked away, but in the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy's hair once more, noticing that the Slytherin remained alone, hands crossed over his desk. Now, Harry doubted that he was waiting to ask questions. Hermione took his arm and pulled him away for Transfiguration. He wanted to wait a moment, to see if Malfoy could see, could even move; but he decided that to kick an addiction, sometimes you need help.

Transfiguration fared better, probably thanks to its more engaging teacher. They were finally learning how to practice human transfiguration, a subject that students - - had been waiting for, for a long time. Professor McGonagall did warn them that if one of them attempted to transfigure her, she would make sure that they knew the meaning of "dumb animal". Ron, of course, nudged him with a grin and whispered:

"Perhaps we can bond Malfoy to his inner ferret again" It certainly was an interesting theory.

They were shown how to do partial transformation, after having studied the _transfiguration equation_. Harry looked around him, observing the various tails and ears adorning his fellow students. The only animal he wanted to be was an owl, like Hedwig. Professor McGonagall told him that the owl/human ratio was simply too complex to balance out at such an early stage. He went for a wolf, it reminded him of Sirius and Remus. It took him about half an hour to get something resembling wolf ears atop of his head. He turned to Ron and saw him passing his tongue over very yellow looking fangs; Hermione had very cute whiskers and green cat eyes - Harry could see Ron drooling over her. He nudged him:

"Oi. You got a cat fantasy?" Ron grinned at him.

"Cat?" He said. Harry laughed and observed the rest of the class. There were various stages of Darwin's evolution present right in that room. It was amusing to see how it changed people's attitude. Some, who attempted more complete/advanced transfigurations, ended up on hands and knees, sniffing random scents, or nibbling at weird surfaces. Within an hour, most of them had passed onto full bodied transformations, practicing on others, for a maximum of ten minutes each. Running around him were sheep, large dogs, goats, all types of non-predatory large animals; those were McGonagall's instructions. Animals that have approximately the same weight ratio as humans and that were not dangerous. As the transformed takes the "brain" of the animal, they had to be careful. Ron was awkwardly stroking a brown bushy sheep, who was shying into a corner; the scene was comical, cute and quite disturbing.

Suddenly a roar emitted through the room, followed by crashing and banging, echoing screams of students trying to save themselves. Bleating and scratching from the animals. Harry turned around and the shadow was enough to tell him. There was a bear in the classroom - or something close to it. It was shorter than a bear, but every bit as massive. Broad shoulders, big paws, hardly any fur, long sharp fangs, crooked snout. It was a gene manipulation gone wrong, and it wasn't happy. It stood on its hind legs, bending over and swooping its big arms across the room, smashing desks against the wall. Human students raised their wand in fear, wondering who the hell this could be. Harry observed for a moment. Fascinated at the chaos and the torture. The bear flung its entire body on the floor, crawling on all fours, growling towards the mob of terrified children.

Within a second all wands were drawn towards the animal, including Harry's. Within their eyes it was obvious: shoot or not shoot? The animal or the student? A loud exclamation was heard, bellowed through the room:

"Stop!" Professor McGonagall swished her cloak and her wand. It took twenty seconds for the bear to disappear, and the human to return, naked and terrified on the floor. Malcolm Preece, Hufflepuff. The teacher acciod a blanket and pulled him up; he seemed disorientated, scared. She bellowed a last:

"Class dismissed!" And walked away with Malcolm.

It all went so fast that everyone was lost and silent; they looked at each other with wonder, amazement even. In their stupor, they still managed to turn, find their transfigured animal and bring them back. Harry just stood there, holding his wand. His mind was blank, staring into space. Ron took his arm and silently they both walked away.

It took an hour for the grapevine to explain what had happened. Herbert Fleet, the former Hufflepuff seeker, had underestimate his ability - a rare and apparently dangerous misconception - thinking that he could never get Malcolm to transfigure into a bear. It was a test run, _for a laugh,_ as they say. Both boys were to be suspended. Hermione could talk of the situation for ages - even though she was in sheep form at the time - Harry, himself, couldn't. He cared very little for the _incident_ ; he had been a teacher, he knew things went wrong, and especially with advanced magic.

No, he thought of himself. As he stared at that misshapen bear, he was fascinated, surprised and fearful; but not excited. This was one moment where danger and fear did not translate into a rush; and it should have done. He sighed. He did not make any sense to himself. He very much doubted that the addiction was over so soon. His heart hadn't even sped up all that much.

Hermione was still on her first breathe talking of this story, he was already over it. Perhaps he needed the danger to be closer to home, to be stuck in that fire instead of seeing it. He wanted to test that theory but decided it probably wasn't the best way to go around kicking it.

"""""""""

It took him two days to feel extremely bored. Everything just carried as normal, the bloody routine was there and was strong too. He downed the usual Saturday drink mechanically. As he observed around him, it seemed he wasn't the only one getting bored at these evenings. A knock came to the door and Ginny got up, saying:

"Astoria" Even though most of them knew already. Only… she didn't come alone. Blaise Zabini stood next to her, giving his best impression of _I'm full of confidence in the lion's den_. This sparked conversation. There was no _This is a Slytherin_ debate, they'd gone over that; but it was Zabini. The main issue in the 'lion's den' are the males, fairly unaccepting of outsiders. This problem was easily dealt with, with Astoria, by the simple fact that she is female and approximately attractive. Zabini did not have the same assets. He was a guy, hence a problem for the males; he was gay, hence of no interest to the girls. Harry knew that while humans, or Wizards, proclaimed to be above and superior, in the end they were all still mammals acting on hormones; sex is still in play. This was the big test of post-war acceptance.

They looked at each other, Harry observed. Hermione was already up to invite him in the circle, but was held mentally back by the rest. Astoria sat down gingerly, eyeing them shyly. She sat next to Harry and whispered:

"He's really a good guy" Harry nodded.

"I know"

He had no doubt of that. The way he worried about Malfoy, how he manipulated Harry into helping him; it all showed that he was generally speaking a good guy. Harry remained quiet and waited it out. It was with great surprise and a huge sense of pride that he observed as Ron sighed and scooted over closer to Hermione.

"Come on then" He breathed. Harry smiled. Maybe his buddy pretended to really not like it, but in the end, Harry was convinced that he didn't actually care. Ron was maybe not the Alpha, but usually the hardest to convince; the others followed his lead. Zabini sat down with a nod towards Ron. Hermione was positively beaming.

They carried on the game, and the booze made them forget he was a Slytherin. His sarcastic self and witty comments brought new life to the game. He was so open about his sexuality, that it started becoming a gimmick throughout the evening. It actually sparked Jack (Harry's previous kiss) to come out. Harry was relieved; somehow Zabini's ease for the subject, made the Gryffindors more comfortable. He could also hold his liquor very well, and was frequently able to challenge Ron and Seamus, where many of the others had failed. This secured his welcome at their table.

"""""""""

Harry was distracted from his addiction - into a new addiction ? - by sexuality. Now he had never given sex much thought, he had never had the time for it. Oh he'd been active with Ginny, as you do, but it had never really worked for either of them. He hadn't been attracted to other people, he didn't look at people that way. He'd been too busy running away to be _looking_ at people. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't deny his embarrassment at seeing Zabini in his towel, seeing his hips. He wasn't technically attracted to him, but there was something there.

Of course, thinking of men brought his attention back to Malfoy. If he was being honest with himself he was pretty certain that he had almost kissed the guy, or said things he shouldn't have. That was probably his hero complex. It had always been. He was attracted to Cho as she cried for Cedric; attracted to Ginny as the school slowly blew up around him; and now Malfoy was the only victim around him. Attracted to Malfoy?

Hermione certainly seemed to think so, and as Hermione is often right, that was a problem right there. She mentioned _experimenting_ and he really wasn't tempted. Zabini had come to him at some point and whispered by his ear:

"He can see but he still can't sleep. He needs help"

It was auspicious. He went flying to stop himself from thinking of it. Sadly as he stepped onto his broom - even that sounds auspicious now - his thoughts were still directed to Malfoy. The rush was not there, and it would be if he could rival against someone of his own level. Malfoy had said he couldn't fly. He had asked Hermione and she said that while squibs could make potions, they could not fly brooms, simply because it requires magic to get the levitation, and a magical core will not suffice. In his absent mind, he thought he could take him up. He very much doubted that the thought would be appreciated.

Almost two weeks had passed since he interacted with Malfoy - incidentally also the time it took for his vision to return apparently - and he felt bizarrely empty because of it. There had been no new incidents and the man had kept a very low profile. So had Harry, avoiding the tower and the library; he had even gone as far as to not go to the tower on his nightmare evening. Even though it was freezing, he went outside on the steps.

Today was Friday once more. He woke up in a sweat but not half as panicking as he was used to being. Nevertheless he felt he had given up enough; he was going to _his_ tower and kick Malfoy's pretty ass.

When he arrived, said pretty ass was lying in a very uncomfortable position on the floor, the blanket drawn away from it. Harry stared for a moment and sighed. He could not kick it. They were right, it was a little too pathetic, a little too sad. He kneeled by the motionless figure and draped the blanket more conveniently over it. He sat down next to Malfoy, back against the wall. His face was hidden beneath the blanket, shielding from the cold. It was easy to see that his body was shivering. Harry himself liked the cold, it made him feel alive, but just for his sleep, he did enjoy the comfort of warmth. He laid a warming spell on Malfoy, watched as the magic worked it's way over him, listening to the sound of relief. He got up and stood by the railing, listened to the sound of Malfoy's gentle breathing.

The pitch changed as he moved, turned painfully on the hard floor. When he thought about it, he did notice his discomfort when he moved. He glanced over at him; less cold but definitely uncomfortable and made up his mind. He took the two steps closer to him and kicked him gently. Malfoy hardly moved but the groan indicated he was awake.

"Potter I swear, you do that once more and you will regret it" He whined.

"Is that your best come back?"

"You just woke me up tosser" He moved slowly, keeping his eyes closed longer. His hair was disheveled, his cheek showed the marks of his pillow; he looked normal. He opened his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

"To what do they owe this displeasure?"

"Are you always this pleasant in the morning?" Harry retorted and paused "No actually, don't answer that"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. He pulled the blanket over him and looked at it curiously for a second.

"Did you put a warming spell on me?" He asked.

"Yes"

"Why"

"You looked pathetic"

Malfoy remained silent at that. He had probably lost his defence. He stood up, with his blanket, and went to the railing, leaning on it with ease. Harry joined him, as they had been before. They glanced at each other a moment before Malfoy turned to the moon.

"If you are going to be tantalisingly mysterious" He said "I'm going to throw you over this bloody railing; no scruples"

"You'll be sent to azkaban"

"I have contacts there"

Harry fully faced him.

"What was it like?" He wondered. Malfoy didn't budge.

"Best fucking holiday of my life"

He looked calm. Though Harry wasn't sure if he was just calm, or if the dementors had suck everything else out. Somehow, he couldn't stop looking. His heart raced at the proximity, as it has done before. Malfoy couldn't care less; he was a shell of the person he used to be.

"Why _do_ you sleep up here?" Harry finally asked.

"Why don't you just bugger off?"

"Because I care"

This stopped Malfoy cold. In fact, it stopped Harry cold too. He hadn't thought about it much; but he supposed that in the end, he had always cared. Malfoy breathed loudly and looked at Harry. In his eyes, the latter could already see the answer, he could _feel_ it in his bones.

"Well" He said "I don't"

"Why?"

"Why should I?"

And sadly, he was right. Harry cared about him, for some strange and maybe sick reason, but he cared very little about himself too. The vast difference between them was that Harry still cared about something, about some people, about some chance in the future; Malfoy had simply stopped everything. They looked at each other; Harry felt himself getting lost in the pools of emptiness portrayed in his gray eyes, felt himself hating it. He dug into his robe and grabbed the wand, showing it silently to Malfoy. The latter observed neutrally.

"I don't want it" He said "It's a useless piece of wood to me"

"It has your magic" Harry was quick to answer "Residual transmission something magic, from the extraction"

"I take it this information was brought to you by Granger?"

Harry nodded as Malfoy rolled his eyes, turning back to the sky.

"Okay, now listen carefully, you prat" He started "There is strictly none of my magic in that wand. No shut up. The extraction is done securely so that all is transferred to the single wand in the premises; all other wands are kept away. This however does not matter, because the magical core can only be transferred to the owner's own wand. Now, maybe you have forgotten but that wand is no longer mine. It was lost in battle when I was disarmed" He turned back to Harry "So, even if it had been possible, which is wasn't, my magic could not have been transferred to that wand because it is no longer mine. Got it?"

Harry let it sink in. He had kept the wand close to him and in his possession, thinking it was Malfoy's magic. If it wasn't his, then where did the heat come from ? Where did the magic come from?

"It grows warm sometimes" He babbled.

"That has nothing to do with me. I would even go so far as to say that it has something to do with you. It is, technically speaking, your wand. Thus you have two, I believe. Your magic must have transferred from one to the other"

But it wasn't his magic. Whenever he had attempted spells with the wand, he had felt it. It was foreign to him, it was not his magic; of that he was certain. He took it out and performed a small lumos. Malfoy looked, raised his hand in slow motion, twirling round the light. It took him two minutes to say:

"That's not my magic" He took the wand from Harry, their hands just lightly grazing. The light died down as soon as the wood left Harry's touch, but it existed long enough for it to send a shiver down Malfoy's spine.

"No. It's not mine" He whispered "But I know whose it is"

 **Hey guys. So let me start with an apology; I am late again. I've simply had a lot going on lately; some really good, some neutral and some really bad. It's kinda taking its toll on my energy and my inspiration. I felt so bad about taking my sweet time with this chapter that I sort of rushed through when I had time, which I'm afraid, might have gone against the quality of the writing. I just had some more important things that needed my attention. Sorry.**


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